I fully support the First Amendment. I will gladly pick up a rifle and defend someone’s right to say something that with every fiber of my being I disagree. That being said, I think that Terry Jones is going too far.
Terry Jones – a pastor at the Dove World Outreach Center – plans on buring 200 copies of the Quran on September 11th. He says, according to CNN, that “his message targets radical Islamists.”
Oh, is that all? You’re going after the guys like the ones who flew planes into the World Trade Center? Well, in that case, go ahead. After all, burning a Quran will not offend a moderate Islamist who still believes that America is a great country and not a western, evil empire. How could the nice Muslims be upset about the burning of 200 of their Holy books?
And, why does this man think this is okay? How could this man think that this is okay?
If an Islamic religious leader stood up in Gainesville, Florida and said he was going to burn 200 Holy Bibles – we’d all be having a fit and falling in it – including Terry Jones – wouldn’t we?
This man is a nut, an absolute religious nut. I hope his followers realize that he is leading them down a path of condemnation and scorn. I hope they realize that burning a Quran is not something of which Jesus would approve.
But, probably not, after all, it is Florida we’re talking about.
One last thing: The blood from the next terrorist attack is on his hands.
And, may God have mercy on his soul.
I miss my late American Eskimo Dog, Skywalker. It has been more than two months since I took him on his last ride. It has been more than a month since I had to look into my grandsons’ eyes and tell them that Skywalker had gone to Heaven.
This past weekend, my three little guys came to visit and more than once, I had to answer the question, “Nana, where’s Skywalker?” Patiently, I would explain that Sky was in Heaven with God and Mr. Mann (our late cat).
I remember how Sky and I would play Hide N Seek. I would go outside and hide – sometimes in the front bushes, sometimes behind the garage or behind the house. Cheryl would wait a little bit and then let Sky out of the house with the command, “Go find, Mommie.” Sky would come racing out of the house, stop and quickly scan the area for any sight of me. He would cock his head and listen. If he couldn’t see or hear me, he would put his nose to the ground and begin hunting me down until he would discover me in my lousy hiding place. I’m sure that our neighbors must’ve thought we were all crazy.
On bright summer nights (and some winter ones), Sky and I would go outside and howl at the full moon. A neighbor once told me that she wondered what kind of neighborhood she had moved into when she heard Sky and I singing to the moon. I’m lucky no one called the cops.
Sky’s most annoying and, yet endearing quality was when he would bark. Oh, I don’t mean a bark or two hundred – he was an Eskie after all. Whenever he would break a rule – run away from me, not come when I called, get into the garbage; I would give him a lecture. I would make him sit in front of me and I would talk to him as if he was a five year old child and not a dog. He would sit quietly and stared – unblinking – at me. Sometimes, if the lecture went on too long, he might turn his head and yawn. When I was done with my lecture – which must’ve worked, as he wasn’t bad very often – I would turn away from him and very quietly, I would hear him go “Woof.” The little pain in the butt wanted the last word. Drove me nuts. If I turned back around, he would turn his head and look away, like he hadn’t “said” anything. I’d turn away again and “Woof.”
These memories of my smart (ass) dog came to mind while I was reading an article on Roadrunner News. The Washington Humane Society decided to conduct a